


We Need To Talk About Merlin

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [52]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Morgana, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Blind Date, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drunk Sex, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Jealous Arthur Pendragon, Jealousy, M/M, Matchmaking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon, Oblivious Merlin, Poor Life Choices, Scheming, Semi-Public Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Merlin has a new boyfriend. Morgana doesn't like him. Somehow, Arthur winds up stuck in the middle.Written for Camelot Drabble Love & Friendship Month.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble Prompt #248: We Need to Talk.

 

 

 

“Arthur,” Morgana says, flouncing into his office and sitting down in the chair opposite his desk. “We need to talk.”

 

In Arthur’s experience, nothing good has ever come from those four little words, but they’re even less likely to herald good news when coming from Morgana. With a weary sigh, he puts down his pen. “I don’t suppose this can wait?”

 

Morgana pretends to consider. “No, not really.”

 

“Fine.” Arthur gets up and shuts the door, then sits back down and crosses his legs, mirroring his sister’s position. “Talk.”

 

“It’s about Merlin.”

 

Arthur can feel his shoulders tighten. “Not this again.”

 

“He has a new boyfriend.”

 

Apparently, Morgana thinks this is news to him. “He told me.”

 

“He  _told you_?”

 

“Well, not in so many words.” Arthur fidgets with his papers. “But I figured the fact that he cancelled our Friday night plans for the foreseeable future was a pretty big indicator.” Merlin has also started humming in the lift again, which is a sure sign he's been getting laid, but Morgana doesn’t need to know that.

 

“Well, then you’ll understand why I’m here.”

 

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “No, I really don’t,” he says. “Is it to irritate me into an early grave so that you can take over the company when I’m gone?”

 

“Very funny.” Morgana narrows her eyes. “We have to put a stop to this.”

 

“Put a stop to what? Merlin is a grown man, I hardly think he’d appreciate us interfering in his love life.”

 

“I don’t care what he thinks.” Morgana makes a dismissive gesture, flipping her dark hair back over her shoulder. “Obviously the boy is too clueless to look out for himself. Why else would he keep dating these losers instead of finding someone who is actually good enough for him?”

 

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. “Morgana— "

 

“And don’t think I’m talking about you,” she adds, pointing a perfectly manicured finger in his direction. “He’s far too good for you, and anyway, you had your chance. No, I’m thinking someone with a little more class. At the very least, someone more suitable than  _Edwin_.”

 

Arthur sighs. He’s pretty sure that no matter what he says, Morgana will just go sailing off in her usual indomitable way to do whatever she pleases, which apparently in this case is harassing his best-friend-slash-personal-assistant (who also happens to be the love of his life) into breaking up with his latest boyfriend. He can already tell her that it will do no good: Merlin may be the type who falls in love at the drop of a hat, but he has a much harder time falling out of it again. There’s also the fact that, as far as Arthur can tell, Merlin seems actively committed to doing the exact opposite of whatever someone tells him to do, mostly out of sheer contrariness. He considers telling his sister as much, but Morgana — being Morgana — probably won’t listen, and in any case Arthur has always wanted to find out what happens when irresistible force meets immovable object.

 

“What do you propose we do, then?” he asks, already mentally preparing damage control.

 

“I think we should invite him to the Valentine’s Day masque Uther’s throwing next weekend,” Morgana says immediately. “Him and his plus one. Everyone will be in costume, so we shouldn’t have a hard time separating the two of them long enough for Merlin to be swept off his feet by a tall, dark and handsome stranger.”

 

“I assume that means you have someone in mind?”

 

“I might do.” Morgana smiles slyly. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

Leaving aside the familiar twinge in his heart at the thought of watching Merlin dance the night away with someone else — Morgana had been right: Arthur had had his chance, and he'd blown it — as far as Morgana’s plans go this one seems relatively harmless. And at least he’ll have an excuse to hang out with Merlin some more outside of work, something that doesn’t happen nearly often enough these days.

 

“All right,” he says at last. “I’ll get him an invitation. But only if you promise that will be the extent of my involvement. Your schemes have a habit of ending badly.”

 

“This one won't,” Morgana assures him, her smile broadening in a way that doesn’t exactly fill Arthur with confidence. “But fine, if that's what it takes. Just make sure you tell him it’s a masquerade ball. I don’t want the poor boy to turn up in a suit while everyone else is swanning about in fancy dress. He’d be mortified.”

 

Arthur nods, and when Morgana still doesn’t stand up to leave he folds his arms. “Was there something else?”

 

Morgana studies his face for a moment, then shakes her head. “Just that, one of these days all that repression is going to come back and bite you in the ass,” she says conversationally, getting to her feet. “And it’s not going to be pretty.”

 

Arthur snorts. “Thank you, Obi Wan. Can I get back to my paperwork now?”

 

Morgana shrugs. “It’s your funeral,” she says, and sashays out the door.

 

Arthur closes his eyes briefly, irritated by the way she always seems to be able to get under his skin. He has only a few seconds to regret the unfortunate twist of fate that made them siblings, however, before Merlin’s head appears in the doorway.

 

“Was that Morgana I saw leaving your office?” he inquires, grinning. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

 

“Ha, ha.” Arthur glances after his sister’s disappearing back. “Actually, she was here to talk about you.”

 

Merlin looks startled. “Me?” He moves further into the room. “Is she claiming I stole her stapler again? Because I didn’t. I know better than to touch her stuff. Or was this about the copy machine incident?”

 

“Neither,” Arthur says, gesturing for him to sit in the chair Morgana had just vacated. “She wanted me to tell you about your plans for next Saturday night.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble Prompt #249: Blind Date.
> 
> Check out Merlocked18's fabulous [Masked Merlin](http://merlocked18.livejournal.com/149761.html) that accompanies this chapter!

 

 

For some unfathomable reason, Merlin thinks a Valentine’s Day masque is a brilliant idea. He even seems somewhat flattered to have been asked, which means that Arthur can’t do what he had intended from the beginning and advise him to run while he still has the chance. Instead, he finds himself offering to send a company car round to Merlin’s flat to collect him, in case he wants to impress his date. Because God help him, Arthur is a sucker and a masochist and would apparently do anything to see Merlin smile.  
  
“You’re pathetic,” Arthur tells himself in the mirror on Saturday evening, tying his tie too tight and having to unpick it again before he strangles himself. “Absolutely pathetic. You need to get yourself together and move on.”  
  
His reflection looks as nonplussed as he feels, and he sighs. This really is getting ridiculous. Anyone would think he and Merlin had had some kind of epic love affair, instead of a three month on-again off-again college romance that had fizzled out before it even had the chance to go anywhere. They had both agreed that they were better off as friends, and at the time, Arthur had actually meant it. The problem was, he hadn’t really known Merlin very well, back then; they hadn’t really hung out much aside from having the occasional class together and having a vaguely overlapping circle of friends, and even then they had argued more than they talked. They had drifted apart after graduation, with Merlin going on to postgraduate study and Arthur taking a job in his father’s company. Then, a few years ago, Merlin had come to work for Pendragon Enterprises as Arthur’s PA, and Arthur had finally gotten the chance to spend time with him on a more regular basis.  
  
And promptly fallen head over heels in love.  
  
It’s ironic, he supposes, that after all this time  _Mer_ lin would turn out to be the one person who actually gets him — who understands his sense of humour and can read his moods from just his coffee order. It’s probably no surprise given how closely they work together, but sometimes it feels like there has to be something more to it; that all the late nights and lingering touches have to  _mean_  something, and not just that Merlin is his closest friend. But Merlin has so far shown no signs that he regrets breaking up with Arthur, or that he might like to give their relationship a second chance, and so here he is, scheming with Morgana to set Merlin up on this crazy blind date when all he actually wants to do is keep Merlin for himself, break-up and boyfriend be damned.  
  
“Pathetic,” he reiterates, with a shake of his head.  
  
When Arthur finally makes it to the old Camelot Hotel — chosen as the site for the Masquerade Ball primarily due to the fact that it had been designed to look like a medieval castle — he’s late, and already not in the mood to socialise. The fact that Morgana pounces on him as soon as he steps inside does not help matters.  
  
“Arthur! There you are. I was beginning to think you’d deserted me.”  
  
“Leave off, Morgana,” Arthur says wearily. “I’m here, aren’t I?”  
  
“Fortunately for you,” Morgana says, arching a brow. Arthur accepts a glass of champagne and she links her arm through his, nudging his shoulder as she directs his attention to where Merlin is standing to one side of the dance floor. He can tell it’s Merlin because of the hair; everything else about him is different, from the sleekly tailored blue-grey frock coat to the delicate, almost translucent fairy king mask that covers most of his face. The artfully lowered lighting casts dramatic shadows across his cheekbones, making his pale skin glow as if it’s covered in luminous body glitter. Arthur nearly chokes on his drink.  
  
“Delicious, isn’t he?” Morgana purrs. “I may or may not have given him some pointers on his costume.”  
  
That much Arthur has already guessed. Merlin may be many things, but fashion-conscious is not one of them; his outfit has Morgana’s fingerprints all over it. No wonder she had been so adamant about letting Merlin know it was a fancy dress party — he must have gone straight to her for advice, exactly as she’d planned. Suddenly Arthur feels distinctly underdressed.  
  
“And where’s Edwin?” He asks, scanning the room for Merlin’s partner. It’s hard to see in the dim light, but he’s fairly sure Morgana shrugs, the peacock-feathers of her own mask bobbing as she waves a hand vaguely at the sea of dancers.  
  
“Last time I saw him, he was dancing with George,” she says. “Which means now is the perfect time to spring my little trap.”  
  
Arthur sighs, but trails gamely after her as she drags him to Merlin’s side, swallowing the rest of his champagne in one gulp and snagging a second glass from a passing waiter as he goes. If he has to be here, at least the steady supply of alcohol will ensure he isn’t totally miserable all night.  
  
“Merlin, you look lovely,” Morgana coos, making Merlin jump. “I knew that outfit was meant for you the moment I saw it.”  
  
“Thanks,” Merlin says, smoothing his jacket nervously. He looks at Arthur's costume. “You don’t think it’s a bit much?”  
  
“Definitely not,” Morgana says. “It’s perfect, isn’t it, Arthur?”  
  
“It’s — fine.” Arthur clears his throat. “You look fine.”  
  
Morgana rolls her eyes. “What he means is, you look ravishing,” she says, smacking her brother's arm. “I’ve been fielding questions about you all night. In fact, there's someone I particularly wanted you to meet, if you’re agreeable.”  
  
“I don’t think — "  
  
“He’s new in town,” Morgana continues, ignoring Merlin’s attempted demurral with practiced aplomb. “And I promised I’d introduce him around tonight so that he doesn’t get lonely. You don’t mind, do you?”  
  
“Would it matter if I did?” Merlin asks drily. Arthur hides his smile behind his drink.  
  
“If you don’t like him, I'm sure there are others who'd love to meet you,” Morgana says sweetly, although from her it sounds more like a threat. Arthur swallows a snort at her total lack of subtlety, and Merlin flicks an uncertain glance at him from behind his mask.  
  
“I, um…”  
  
“You might as well give in,” Arthur advises him, shaking his head. “She won’t let up until you agree to at least one dance.”  
  
“Fine,” Merlin says, although he still sounds slightly confused. “I guess one dance won’t hurt.”  
  
“Excellent!” Morgana reaches out and taps the shoulder of one of the men behind them. Arthur has to hand it to his sister — her choreography is as flawless as her style is outrageous. “Gwaine, darling, Merlin here wants you to ask him to dance.”  
  
Gwaine turns. He’s immaculately dressed in an old-fashioned tuxedo with a sleek, silver fox mask that sets off his dark eyes and tanned skin, and Arthur watches as he gives Merlin a blatant once-over before running a hand through his over-long hair. “Well he _llo_ , gorgeous,” he says, grinning. “I’m Gwaine.”  
  
Merlin blushes bright red. “Merlin,” he squeaks. “Um. Pleased to meet you?”  
  
“Would you do me the honour of this dance, Merlin?” Gwaine offers his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation Merlin takes it, allowing himself to be swept away onto the crowded dance floor. He doesn’t spare Arthur or Morgana a second glance, and Arthur takes a deep breath, forcing himself to loosen his hold on his champagne glass before it shatters.  
  
“Gwaine Greene?” he mutters, stepping closer to his sister so that he can be heard above the music. “Are you serious?”  
  
“Trust me,” Morgana whispers back, raising her own glass to her lips with a knowing smirk. “I know  _exactly_  what I’m doing.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content note:** Deals with cheating/infidelity.
> 
> Written for Camelot Drabble Prompt #250: Pick-Up Lines.

 

 

Arthur makes it through two more songs, and three more glasses of champagne before he realises he’s doing exactly what he swore to himself he wouldn’t do tonight — staring at his best friend’s arse. And moping. Let’s not forget the moping.  
  
“Get it together, Pendragon,” he mutters, rubbing his forehead. Morgana has long since abandoned him for her own date, a leggy blonde woman with stilettos so sharp they could double as weapons at a murder scene, but a passing waiter gives him a sidelong glance, and Arthur flushes. Right. Now he’s pathetic,  _and_  crazy.  
  
The truth is, it would be a lot easier to stop feeling sorry for himself if Merlin were out there looking put-upon, instead of grinning up at Gwaine as though he were God’s gift to office assistants everywhere. Arthur has nothing against Gwaine, per se. Aside from the fact that he’s already a partner at his own law firm and has absolutely no sense of propriety, he seems like a decent enough bloke. Right at this moment, however, there’s something about him that rubs Arthur the wrong way; a persistent, aggravating quality which makes him want to plant his fist right in the middle of Gwaine’s irritatingly perfect face.  
  
It probably has something to do with the fact that he has his hands all over Merlin.  
  
Grimacing, Arthur selects a random spot on the parquet floor to glare at until the music stops, at which point he decides it’s safe to look up. Across the ballroom, Gwaine is leading Merlin off to the side, where they have a brief conversation before he departs in the direction of the buffet table. Merlin remains standing alone, angled slightly away from Arthur so he can’t see his face, and Arthur comes to a sudden decision. Possibly it’s because he’s just drowned his last ounce of self-preservation in alcohol, but he can’t bring himself to pass up an opportunity like this, even if it does interfere with Morgana’s best laid plans.  
  
Setting his empty glass down on a convenient side table, Arthur straightens his shoulders and crosses the room. “Excuse me,” he says in Merlin's ear, doing his best Zaphod Beeblebrox impression. “Do you want to see my spaceship?”  
  
Merlin startles, then grins when he sees who has crept up on him. “Arthur! Hey. Were you dancing?”  
  
“No, just figured I’d say hi.” He shrugs, attempting to sound casual. “Are you having fun?”  
  
“Yeah, Gwaine is…” Merlin makes a vague gesture. “Nice. Funny.” He frowns. “Very shiny hair.”  
  
“Sounds fascinating,” Arthur says drily. “I take it the two of you hit it off, then.”  
  
Merlin skewers him with a raised eyebrow, something Arthur knows for a fact he has learned from his Uncle Gaius. “He’s not my type.”  
  
“Oh.” It may be possible that Gwaine has some redeeming qualities after all. “Well, he is rich, smart, and stunningly gorgeous. I can see how that wouldn’t appeal.”  
  
“Fuck off,” Merlin says, good-naturedly. “If you’re so keen, why don’t you ask him out?”  
  
“That would be like sleeping with the enemy,” Arthur says loftily. “Also, we tried it once; he snores. So.” He glances down at his hands and thinks, fuck it. In for a penny. “What is your type, then?”  
  
Interestingly, Merlin colours. “You know I like blonds.”

Yes, he does know. But there's something to be said for hearing it spoken out loud.

“In that case.” Before he can lose his nerve, Arthur holds out a hand. “Dance with me?”  
  
Merlin hesitates, and Arthur experiences a moment of burgeoning embarrassment before he nods and gives a self-deprecating little smile. “Sure, why not?”  
  
He takes Arthur’s hand, and Arthur leads him out onto the dance floor, hoping Merlin can’t tell how badly his palms are sweating. The musicians strike up a slow song, and the two of them eye one another for a moment before Merlin shrugs and steps into position, letting Arthur take the lead.  
  
“You know, I hate to break it to you, but your pick-up line **s**  could use some work,” Merlin informs him, once he’s settled comfortably into Arthur’s arms. The last time they had danced together was at graduation — an entirely different sort of party — but nevertheless it feels so familiar and so  _right_  that Arthur has to swallow back a sudden pang of champagne-induced nostalgia.  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with my pick-up lines,” he replies, after a pause that lasts just a beat too long. “They just don’t work on you.”  
  
Merlin laughs. “Are you suggesting I’m immune to prats?”  
  
“Maybe.” Unfortunately. “It would explain why you can never seem to do a single thing I tell you.”  
  
“You could try asking nicely.”  
  
There’s enough suggestiveness in Merlin’s tone that Arthur glances at him, wondering whether he’s reading too much into a statement that could just as easily be part of their normal banter. Merlin is watching him with his head tipped to one side, and god  _damn_  Morgana for thinking that these costumes were such a brilliant idea, because it’s completely impossible for Arthur to gauge his expression. Is he flirting, or teasing? There’s no way to tell.  
  
In spite of himself, Arthur’s attention drifts to Merlin’s mouth, the slightly parted lips, soft and faintly curved, and his heart starts pounding at a rate disproportionate to the speed at which they’re dancing. What would Merlin do if Arthur kissed him right now, in the middle of the crowded dance floor? Would he freeze up — get angry — push him away? Or would he kiss him back?  
  
He is still forcibly reminding himself of all the reasons why kissing Merlin would be a terrible idea when Merlin falters, then stops moving altogether, his eyes fixed on something over Arthur’s shoulder.  
  
“What?” Arthur asks, turning to follow Merlin’s gaze. “What is it?”  
  
Merlin doesn’t answer. A man and a woman are stumbling out of the men’s toilets not far from them, their masks missing and their clothing askew, and for a split second Arthur wonders whether Merlin is thinking — if he’s  _remembering_  —  
  
And then it dawns on him. The couple has paused beneath one of the painfully kitsch wall sconces, the orange-yellow light casting distorted shadows across their faces as they giggle and lean into one another for one last kiss. Arthur doesn’t know the man, but he recognises the woman: Sophia, another ex, who had turned out to be more in love with Arthur’s bank account than she was with Arthur himself. As Arthur watches, she looks up at her companion with a coquettish smile, her heavy-lidded eyes making her look like the cat that got the cream, and it suddenly becomes appallingly obvious who the man in front of her must be.  
  
“Shit,” Arthur breathes, his stomach dropping.  
  
He’ll never admit it to her face, but Morgana was right. Edwin is nowhere near good enough for Merlin.  
  
When Arthur turns back, Merlin has already bolted, his dark head only just visible in the crowd as he makes a beeline for the nearest exit. With a muttered curse, Arthur hurries after him, using his elbows freely when dancers are too slow to get out of the way and praying he won’t be too far behind to see where Merlin is headed.  
  
“What the hell did you say to him?” Morgana demands, materialising in Arthur’s path just as he reaches the stairwell doorway. She grabs his arm when he tries to push past her, her fingernails digging into his skin beneath the fine cloth. “I put a lot of effort into setting this up, Arthur, so if you’ve ruined it, I swear to God…”  
  
“Did you also set  _that_  up?” Arthur snarls, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Morgana glances behind him, her brows furrowed behind her mask. Then her eyes widen.  
  
“Oh my god. Is that — ?”  
  
“Edwin and Sophia? Yes, it is.” Arthur folds his arms, glaring. “Tell me you didn’t suggest it to her, Morgana. Tell me this isn’t just some kind of game to you.”  
  
As far as he can tell, Morgana appears genuinely shocked by the accusation, but his sister has always been quite the actress when the occasion calls for it. “I knew he was an asshole, but I didn’t think he’d cheat on Merlin,” she says. “Honestly, Arthur, I had nothing to do with it.”  
  
“Then get the hell out of my way,” Arthur growls, and to his surprise, she does.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning:** Discussion of cheating/infidelity, mildly dubious consent (intoxication), deeply questionable life decisions.
> 
> Written for Camelot Drabble Prompt #251: Perfectly Imperfect.

  


  


When Arthur finally tracks him down, Merlin is holed up in a conference room on the second floor, sitting curled up on a large black settee next to the window. He has his knees drawn up and the lights off, and if Arthur hadn’t been looking for him he might have mistaken him for part of the furniture.  
  
“There you are,” he says, stopping in the doorway. “Can I come in?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Arthur ignores this, stepping inside and closing the door. “You know, you’re not very good at hiding,” he continues, determined to keep his voice light. “This was the only room open on this floor, other than the bathroom. Kind of obvious.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry my secret concealment skills aren’t up to your expectations,” Merlin spits out. “Next time, I’ll be sure to break into a broom closet somewhere so that you won’t be able to track me down.”  
  
Arthur sighs and picks his way across the cluttered floor. “Not what I meant,” he says, perching on the sofa next to Merlin. “You don’t need to hide from me.”  
  
“Don’t I?” Merlin shifts away from him, shoulders stiff. “Did you know?”  
  
“About Edwin?”  
  
“No, about Gwaine. Did you know Morgana was trying to set me up with someone?”  
  
Arthur frowns, not sure why this is important. “She may have mentioned something about it.”  
  
“And you went along with it?”  
  
“You know what Morgana’s like. When she gets an idea into her head, sometimes it’s safer just to get out of the way. Although, if it helps, I don’t think she was actually aiming to break the two of you up — she just wanted you to know you had other options.”  
  
Merlin huffs. “Right. Because I couldn’t possibly figure that out for myself. Did it even occur to either of you that I was happy with the way things were?”  
  
“I told her not to interfere,” Arthur retorts, sounding defensive even to himself. “But she had a bee in her bonnet about Edwin; she was convinced he wasn’t good enough for you.” He folds his arms across his chest. “You have to admit, she got that part right.”  
  
“Oh, sure.” In the dim light, Arthur can see Merlin’s expression twist into a contemptuous knot, his mask pushed back to reveal a tear-streaked face. “Poor, hapless Merlin, can’t even tell his boyfriend is a cheating douchebag. Good thing I’ve got you guys to set me straight, isn’t it?”  
  
“Merlin…”  
  
“No, forget it.” Merlin pushes to his feet. “I’m going home.”  
  
“You are not.” Arthur grabs his arm. “If anything, Edwin’s the one who should be slinking away in shame, not you. At least come and have another drink with me, show him you couldn’t care less what he does.”  
  
But Merlin is already shaking his head. “I don’t want another drink, thanks,” he says. “I think I’ve already been humiliated enough for one evening.”  
  
The bitterness in his tone makes Arthur’s stomach clench, and not for the first time he wishes he’d stopped long enough to punch Edwin in the face. He lets go of Merlin’s wrist.  
  
“You really liked him, huh.”  
  
“No, it’s not that.” Merlin worries at his lower lip. “I mean, I did like him, of course I liked him — I think maybe I could have loved him, even, given time. But we’d only been together a few months. It’s just…you and Morgana, you never know when to leave well enough alone. It's humiliating.”  
  
“We were only trying to help.”  
  
“I know. But there’s a reason why I never talk to you guys about my love life.” He glances at Arthur, then away again. “You’re my ex, even if it was a long time ago. Would you want Sophia to be privy to all the details of your failed relationships?”  
  
“Well, no,” Arthur admits. “But I hate Sophia.  _You_  hate Sophia. People in Papua New Guinea who have never met Sophia hate Sophia. Of course I’m not going to tell her anything.” He studies Merlin’s face, tugging the fairy king mask off altogether so he can see him better. “Do you hate me?”  
  
Merlin looks down. “No,” he says quietly. “No, I don’t hate you. Only…I’m such a hopeless mess, Arthur, I can’t help thinking you must look at me and be so grateful you decided to break things off when you did.”  
  
This is so far from the truth that Arthur can’t help but laugh, the sound coming out slightly strangled. He drops the mask onto the sofa and stands up. This close, the slight difference in their heights is more obvious, but he still has to tip Merlin’s chin up with one finger as he says, “The way I remember it, that was a mutual decision, for the good of our collective sanity.” He smiles crookedly, wondering if Merlin can guess at the true depth of emotion behind it. “Don’t let Edwin make you second-guess yourself. You may not be perfect, but as far as I’m concerned you’re perfect that way.”  
  
It’s quiet, there in the conference room. Outside, it has started snowing lightly, tight little flurries that don’t bode well for the journey home, and Merlin meets Arthur’s gaze, the pearlescent light reflected in his wide-open eyes.  
  
“Did you ever think, maybe…” He lets the thought trail off, his eyes roaming Arthur’s face. Arthur holds himself very still.  
  
“Do I ever think what?”  
  
Merlin’s voice is low. “D'you ever think maybe we made a mistake?”  
  
Arthur licks his lips, and can feel as much as hear the startled shift in Merlin’s breathing. “Merlin, I — “  
  
Merlin kisses him. Perfectly imperfect Merlin, with his unruly hair and his too-big ears, his hands coming up to gently bracket Arthur’s face. It’s better than Arthur remembers, better even than he’d imagined earlier on the dance floor; everything is preternaturally clear and sharp, Merlin’s hands and Merlin’s lips the only real things and everything else a dream.  
  
When he can breathe, Arthur says, “You’re not — I don’t think you’re hopeless.”  
  
Merlin snorts. “You tell me I’m hopeless at least six times a day.”  
  
“All right.” Arthur smiles a little, bumping their foreheads together. “So maybe you are hopeless. But you’re not — I mean — I want…even hopeless personal assistants deserve to be happy, you know.”  
  
Merlin’s breath hitches in what might be a laugh, and he threads his fingers into Arthur’s hair, shifting forward until Arthur can feel the hard length of him pressed against his thigh. “How happy?”  
  
“Very happy,” Arthur murmurs, the breath stopping in his throat as Merlin nudges him back towards the sofa. “Ecstatic, even.”  
  
This can’t possibly end well. Merlin has just been jilted by his boyfriend, and Arthur  _still_  hasn’t told him how he feels, but on the other hand, Merlin is right there, his eyes dark without that ludicrous mask, and it seems like he’s asking — as if he wants —  
  
“Fuck me,” Merlin whispers, removing any possibility of doubt and also apparently all the air from the room. “Arthur, I want you to — “  
  
“We’re drunk,” Arthur blurts, his voice shaking. “And Edwin…”  
  
“ _I don’t care_  about Edwin,” Merlin hisses, with enough vehemence that it can’t possibly be true. “Arthur, please.”  
  
When Arthur remains silent, Merlin takes up the argument in kisses, slow and soft, tracing a burning trail under Arthur’s jaw and down his throat until his knees abruptly give way, and he sits down heavily on the leather sofa behind him. He catches at Merlin’s arms in an effort to slow things down, to orient himself, but Merlin is already straddling his lap, and Arthur is losing the ability to think with anything approaching rationality.  
  
“Merlin,” he manages — a last-ditch effort. “This is a public building. We can’t…”  
  
“We  _can_ ,” Merlin disagrees, and Arthur can’t help but give in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble Prompt #252: Ham for Cam lyrics (Wait For It).

  

Arthur is in the middle of doing up his trousers when there's a knock on the door.  
  
“Merlin?” Morgana’s voice filters through the cracks. “Are you in there?”  
  
“Shit,” Merlin mutters. He looks at Arthur, still shirtless, then down at himself, and Arthur knows what he must be thinking. If Morgana sees them together like this, there’s no way they can convince her that all they’ve been doing is talking. Not that Arthur makes a habit of caring what Morgana thinks, necessarily, but under the circumstances he’s not sure he’d survive the bollocking that would follow.  
  
Another knock. “Merlin?”  
  
“I — yeah,” Merlin calls, making frantic hand-waving motions at Arthur. “I’m here. Just a second, Morgana.”  
  
“Can I come in?”  
  
Morgana’s voice is uncharacteristically tentative, and Arthur wonders for a moment why she doesn’t just walk in anyway. Is she expecting Merlin to be angry with her? Apparently his sister is capable of being tactful and polite when the occasion calls for it — just not to people she’s related to.  
  
“Give me — just hang on.” Merlin makes another futile attempt at straightening his clothing, and grabs Arthur’s arm. “Get behind the sofa,” he hisses. “I’ll deal with her.”  
  
Arthur barely has time to do more than nod his agreement before the door handle is turning and Merlin is shoving him and his clothes behind the back of the settee. It’s a tight fit — there’s only a small gap between the sofa and the wall, and for a horrible moment Arthur is certain he’s going to get stuck and die of mortification with his arse in the air. Then something tears and gives way, and he’s able to scramble into his hiding place just as the door swings open, a shaft of light from the hallway cutting brightly across the room.  
  
“There you are,” Morgana says. “I’ve been looking for you.”  
  
From his vantage point, all Arthur can see of her is her ridiculously high heels as she stops in front of Merlin, her long skirt swirling around her ankles.  
  
“You— you have?” Merlin sounds nervous. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to run out on your party.”  
  
“Don’t be silly, it’s fine.” Morgana sits down, the sofa squeaking slightly beneath her weight. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She pauses. “Didn’t Arthur come out after you?”  
  
“Arthur? No, I haven’t seen him.”  
  
Arthur rolls his eyes in the darkness. Merlin really is a terrible liar.  
  
“Oh. He mustn’t have found you, then.” She swings her feet a little. “I saw the two of you dancing, earlier.”  
  
Merlin says nothing.  
  
“You looked happy,” Morgana presses. “Did you have fun tonight?”  
  
“I did,” Merlin replies coolly. “Until I saw Edwin with Sophia.”  
  
Arthur winces. Obviously Morgana is aware that she’s hit a nerve, because when she next speaks her tone is more conciliatory. “I really am sorry, Merlin. I just wanted to introduce you to Gwaine; I had no idea Edwin would take it as an opportunity to — well.”  
  
“Fuck Sophia in the loos?” Merlin suggests, sounding resigned. “Me neither. I didn't even know he was into girls.”  
  
“Sophia isn’t a girl, she’s a soul-sucking Dementor in disguise,” Morgana says tartly, and this actually provokes a laugh. “Do you remember when Arthur first started dating her? He was so smitten, I wanted to break her neck.”  
  
“Love doesn’t discriminate, I guess, not even regarding the demonic undead,” Merlin says. “At least they never did end up getting married.”  
  
“God, can you imagine?”  
  
The two of them giggle together and then fall silent, and Arthur leans his head back against the wall, trying to breathe quietly so as not to give himself away. He wonders if Merlin is picturing Sophia the way they last saw her, with her tongue down Edwin’s throat. He hopes not. It’s not exactly a pleasant image.  
  
“Gwaine asked me to give you something, by the way,” Morgana says, finally breaking the silence.  
  
“He did?”  
  
“Mhm. Hand me your phone.”  
  
There’s a creak as she leans forward, then the sound of keyboard tapping.  
  
“Sexy Fox?” Merlin asks, sounding amused.  
  
“His words, not mine.” A pause. “Here. His phone number. You can call him or not call him, it’s up to you. After what happened with Edwin, I don’t want to presume, but…I think he might be good for you.”  
  
“I don’t know, Morgana. I don’t think I’m interested in another relationship right now.”  
  
“Who said anything about a relationship? Let Gwaine be your ill-advised rebound sex guy, I’m sure he’d be up for it.”  
  
There’s a long pause while Merlin apparently thinks this over. Arthur closes his eyes, fingernails digging into his palms. He can still feel the imprint of Merlin’s lips at his throat, Merlin’s hands buried in his hair. Ill-advised rebound sex — it had been more than that between them, hadn’t it?  
  
“Well,” he hears Merlin say slowly. “Maybe we could get a drink sometime. As friends.”  
  
“That’s the spirit!” Morgana claps her hands. “Now, straighten yourself up and let’s show that bastard Edwin how it’s done. I guarantee you, I’m a much better dance partner than he is.”  
  
“Morgana…”  
  
“I insist,” Morgana says firmly. She gets up, and Arthur guesses she’s holding out a hand, because after a moment Merlin sighs and follows her. “You looked like you were having such a good time, earlier. I don’t want to be responsible for ruining that.”  
  
“All right, all right,” Merlin says, and Arthur can tell he’s smiling. “But you know Arthur always complains I have two left feet. So don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  
  
He shuts the door behind them as they leave, and Arthur sits for a while in the resulting darkness, the beginnings of a champagne headache already pulsing behind his eyelids. His jacket is torn, the red mask crumpled somewhere down the back of the sofa. He buttons his shirt with unsteady fingers.  
  
Eventually, they're going to have to talk about this. But right now, he just wants to go home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Camelot Drabble prompt #253: Ham 4 Cam lyrics (My Shot).

 

Given the way his night is going, it comes as no surprise to find that leaving is easier said than done. Arthur is still shrugging into his coat when Gwaine arrives in the lobby, strutting out of the lift like a model on a catwalk. That’s not an exaggeration, either: he even pouts a little when he sees Arthur watching, flicking his long hair casually out of his eyes.

“Hey, Arthur, glad I caught you,” he says. Arthur stops a few feet from the doors, gritting his teeth. He’d been so close.  
  
“What do you want, Gwaine?”  
  
“I wanted to ask you something.” His smirk makes Arthur’s temples throb. “It’s about Merlin.”  
  
Of course it is. The Powers that Be must really hate him tonight. Arthur hoists a smile onto his face, trying to look politely interested in whatever Gwaine is about to say.  
  
“What about him?”  
  
“Are you guys together anymore, or not?” Gwaine asks, arms folded. “Morgana says not, but I’m not blind: I know smouldering UST when it slow dances in front of me.”  
  
He raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and Arthur can feel himself flush.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says curtly. “Me and Merlin? Why would you think that?”  
  
“Have you  _seen_  Merlin?” Gwaine demands, incredulous. His face goes dreamy for a moment. “That arse...You can’t tell me you haven’t watched him swanning around the office in those tight pants and wondered what he might look like bent over your desk. The man is gorgeous.”  
  
Arthur glares. It’s not as if he hasn’t thought about it sometimes, especially on those days when Merlin is inclined to shoot off at the mouth about how much of a prat he is. There’s something about the way Merlin looks when he’s irritated, his cheeks flushed and blue eyes flashing, that makes Arthur want to kiss the scowl right off his face. And possibly shag him senseless in the middle of the office. But he’s not about to tell  _Gwaine_ that.  
  
The other man is watching him expectantly, and Arthur realises he’s still waiting for an answer. He pulls his coat closer around his body.  
  
“Merlin and I are — “ His throat sticks for a moment. “We’re old friends. We dated once back in uni, but it didn’t last. That’s all.”  
  
“Ah.” Gwaine’s face clears. “Great. Well, not so great for you, but definitely great for me! So...you don’t mind if I take a shot, then?”  
  
_Yes_ , Arthur thinks.  _I really do_. “It’s not my place to say,” he answers evasively. “If Merlin wants to go out with you, that’s his business.”  
  
“Right, of course. Excellent. Didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, that's all.” He claps Arthur on the shoulder, then nods towards the ornate glass doors, through which they can see a steady fall of snow. “Watch yourself out there, Princess; wouldn’t want to break that pretty face.”  
  
“Thanks,” Arthur says sourly. Gwaine flashes him a shit-eating grin and jogs back inside, whistling jauntily to himself.  
  
Arthur watches him go, then buttons up his coat, stepping out into the cold with his shoulders hunched around his ears. Outside, a row of sleek taxi cabs is idling in the snow, waiting to take intoxicated guests home from the party. Arthur climbs into the nearest one and gives the driver his address. The cold leather of the seat is soothing, but the feel of it against his skin only reminds him of the couch in the hotel. It had been so effortless between them: Merlin grinning mischievously as he rolled the condom over Arthur’s cock; the easy way he’d stretched to take him in, as if he’d already been prepared for such an eventuality.  
  
“Valentine’s Day,” he’d muttered, in response to Arthur’s questioning eyebrow, and blushed when Arthur smirked at him. Arthur had kissed him then, hitching his hips just slightly until the other man gasped and bore down, and had set about driving him slowly crazy, drinking in the small sounds of pleasure Merlin made as Arthur coaxed him to his peak. During the clean-up, it had been on the tip of his tongue to confess everything, never mind that Merlin was drunk and heartbroken and probably didn’t want to hear it, but some instinct made him hold the words back. He couldn’t just blurt out his feelings like that; he wanted the moment tobe perfect. So he'd waited, thinking they could talk once the night was over. Maybe over a drink or two back at his flat, if he timed things right.  
  
Except — first Morgana had interrupted them, then he’d more or less told Gwaine to ask Merlin out, and now here he is, taking a taxi home alone. Without Merlin. Clearly, he is an idiot.  
  
“I’m an idiot,” he says out loud. The driver isn’t paying much attention, but Arthur can see him flick an amused glance at him in the rearview mirror. Mortified, he sinks down in his seat and stares out the window.  
  
Perhaps it will end up being for the best. Whatever he feels for Merlin, the timing of it is all wrong: Merlin had just broken up with his boyfriend, for God’s sake, and if Arthur had been thinking straight earlier he'd have insisted they put a stop to things before they went too far. Alas, hindsight. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, Morgana’s words about ill-advised rebound sex ringing in his ears like a warning klaxon, only far too late.  
  
A few blocks from his flat, Arthur’s phone buzzes.  


 

>   
>  **Merlin:**   _Where are you? Morgana keeps threatening to make me tango. Am hiding behind the buffet. Send help._

  
Arthur stares at the text for a long moment, then shakes himself and taps out a response.  


 

>   
>  **Arthur:**   _Gne home. Headache. Distract Morgana w sumthing shiny & she wjll leave u alone._

  
He hesitates, then sends another message even briefer than the first:  


 

>   
>  **Arthur:**   _Have a good nite. C u Monday. xx_

  
He turns the phone off without waiting for a reply.


End file.
